On the One Year Anniversary of Jackie’s Homegoing: Should I rejoice over my loss? No, I don’t think so! But is this an incredibly precious opportunity to grow? Definitely!
It will be a year on Saturday August 23rd since Jackie went home to be with the Lord. It has been a difficult and painful year, which has become less and less difficult as He has led me through a healing process. I have begun some new initiatives in my life that I am excited about but I am not sure I am ready to rejoice!
Well, actually, the Word does not say to rejoice over what has happened. Neither God nor I rejoices over the death of one of His saints rather the Word says it is ‘precious in His sight’ (Psalm 116:15). God’s original plan was not for people to die. Death is as a result of the introduction of sin into the world. Therefore, God is not complacent and comfortable with death and is eager for the Day when He wipes it out.
But, as I said, the death of one of His saints is precious in His sight. When one of His children dies He pays special attention and welcomes them directly into His presence and into their new existence free of pain and sin and free to fellowship with Him.
And for those of us that remain, we are to ‘rejoice in our sufferings’. Why? Because, as Roman 3:5-6 says, ‘…because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy spirit, whom He has given us’.
In other words, we are to use our suffering, by God’s grace, as a time of personal growth in which we ultimately experience an abundance of God’s love poured into our hearts.
I have slowly begun to realize, that though I am not happy about my loss and I wish this pain would go away, God desires to develop my character, hope in Him and a heart full of the love of God. This became very clear to me when I took a personal retreat weekend on my birthday a month or so ago. On the retreat it believe I heard God say to me, “At age 64, Fred, I have given you an incredible opportunity to grow and change”. While I could not have heard or accepted that message last fall I am seeing now, that among the many things that God is weaving into His tapestry through Jackie’s homegoing, there is for me an incredibly, powerful impetus to grow and become all that I can be before I too go home.
I must take full advantage of the pain, the tears, the crying out to the Lord, the softening of my heart and the desperate need I have for Him. And indeed, Lord, that’s what I intend to do by cooperating with you and not fighting against you. - Fred
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Tim Eimer: I give thanks to God every time I think of you
Dear friends,
Last Thursday, my eight-year-old son bested me in a pull-up competition 7-5. As I marveled at the achievements of Olympic athletes’ last week, I grew weaker, and my weakness shoved me into the pit of self-pity. With weariness, I peered back at my medical and spiritual struggles this past year, and Satan roared in my ears and raised his lethal claw to slash away my memories of God’s special grace in my life (1 Peter 5:8).
I get the most vivid images while lying on that table with the mask over my face. Last week, while praying during a treatment, I saw great white wings covering the roof of my home. Fiery arrows rained down on the wings, but they hissed harmlessly into ashes, and my family remained safely sheltered from attacks of the evil one. In my dis-couragement, God gave me this picture of His grace of which all of you are a major part.
I have shared decades of friendship with some of you while many of you I have yet to meet, but God’s sacrificial love has been demonstrated in all its fullness through you (1 John 4:12). You have shared my family’s troubles and burdens (Galatians 6:2), and like a sweet perfume, the fragrance of your kindness and goodness permeates our home (Ephesians 5:2). You have displayed your love for my family and me by sending cards, books, and music (1 John 3:18).
Thank you for the dozens of birthday wishes. Thank you for an inbox bursting with encouraging words. Thank you for thousands of prayers launched to the throne of grace on our behalf. Each prayer is an additional feather in those protective wings extinguishing Satan’s arrows of despair (Psalm 63:7).
I am fighting some fatigue from the radiation and dullness of thought from the medicine, but I am pain free, something my doctor assured me would not happen when I told him I never even popped a Tylenol after both surgeries on my throat last year. Right now, I take the minimum dosage of nerve medication, require no narcotics, and continue to workout and drive myself to the hospital. My doctor advises a three week recuperation period, but I am confident I will start the first day of school ten days after my treatments end. I tell all my doctors and nurses of the multitude of prayers raised on my behalf when they marvel at my absence of pain during each medical trial, but most shrug it off. I’ll keep telling them.
Like Paul, I give thanks to God every time I think of you, and I think of you and pray for you often (Philippians 1: 3-4). You pour comfort and joy into my spirit, and I pray for God’s sweet fruit of salvation in your life (Philippians 1: 11). Thank you for shining so brightly in my life (Philippians 2: 15). I am awe struck at the powerful bonds of love and hope in Christ tying us together across the virtual distances of cyberspace, and I am humbled by your countless acts of love and mercy.
Thank you.
God bless,
Tim
Tim Eimer 54
Brookside Court
Horsham, PA 19044
Last Thursday, my eight-year-old son bested me in a pull-up competition 7-5. As I marveled at the achievements of Olympic athletes’ last week, I grew weaker, and my weakness shoved me into the pit of self-pity. With weariness, I peered back at my medical and spiritual struggles this past year, and Satan roared in my ears and raised his lethal claw to slash away my memories of God’s special grace in my life (1 Peter 5:8).
I get the most vivid images while lying on that table with the mask over my face. Last week, while praying during a treatment, I saw great white wings covering the roof of my home. Fiery arrows rained down on the wings, but they hissed harmlessly into ashes, and my family remained safely sheltered from attacks of the evil one. In my dis-couragement, God gave me this picture of His grace of which all of you are a major part.
I have shared decades of friendship with some of you while many of you I have yet to meet, but God’s sacrificial love has been demonstrated in all its fullness through you (1 John 4:12). You have shared my family’s troubles and burdens (Galatians 6:2), and like a sweet perfume, the fragrance of your kindness and goodness permeates our home (Ephesians 5:2). You have displayed your love for my family and me by sending cards, books, and music (1 John 3:18).
Thank you for the dozens of birthday wishes. Thank you for an inbox bursting with encouraging words. Thank you for thousands of prayers launched to the throne of grace on our behalf. Each prayer is an additional feather in those protective wings extinguishing Satan’s arrows of despair (Psalm 63:7).
I am fighting some fatigue from the radiation and dullness of thought from the medicine, but I am pain free, something my doctor assured me would not happen when I told him I never even popped a Tylenol after both surgeries on my throat last year. Right now, I take the minimum dosage of nerve medication, require no narcotics, and continue to workout and drive myself to the hospital. My doctor advises a three week recuperation period, but I am confident I will start the first day of school ten days after my treatments end. I tell all my doctors and nurses of the multitude of prayers raised on my behalf when they marvel at my absence of pain during each medical trial, but most shrug it off. I’ll keep telling them.
Like Paul, I give thanks to God every time I think of you, and I think of you and pray for you often (Philippians 1: 3-4). You pour comfort and joy into my spirit, and I pray for God’s sweet fruit of salvation in your life (Philippians 1: 11). Thank you for shining so brightly in my life (Philippians 2: 15). I am awe struck at the powerful bonds of love and hope in Christ tying us together across the virtual distances of cyberspace, and I am humbled by your countless acts of love and mercy.
Thank you.
God bless,
Tim
Tim Eimer 54
Brookside Court
Horsham, PA 19044
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Tim Eimer: Question- Why me? and God's response.
Dear Friends,
After three years of cancer, I finally popped the question, or rather the question popped out of me. While strapped inside of the mask, I asked God, very tentatively mind you, “Why me?” I blame a woman at the pool for my misstep. (I must shift the blame to somebody.) There she sits day after day with skin shriveled and prune-like from decades of excess sun, puffing down a pack or two of cancer sticks, munching on Velveeta smothered nachos, and never rising from her seat until its time to leave. Adding her insult to my injury, she must be 110 years old. And I have cancer? Lord surely there has been some kind of mistake. For three decades I’ve worked out 5-10 hours a week. Why me? My diet is 80% whole grains, fresh fruits and veggies. Why me? I’ve never smoked or taken drugs; and I always slather myself with sunscreen, and I take my vitamins. Lord, Oh Lord, why me?
As you can well imagine, this simple question opened the latch and released the floodgates of hidden sin within me. A rising tide of polluted detritus trapped in the pit of my soul gushed out into plain view. Mucking through the mud deep down in my spirit, I saw the ugly truths once hidden by this dirty reservoir. I whisper them to my God. Lord, I do not fully trust you. I really don’t have faith that all the promises you give in the Scriptures actually belong to me. I do not believe, deep down in the core of my soul, that your love for me is truly too deep for me to fathom and will last for an eternity. This plan you have revealed, this path you have set me on, is flawed; I’m heading in the wrong direction, away from my good health, away from my family, away from my little boys. This radiation makes me weaker everyday, and I’m really too young to die. God you need to give me back my control. I need my cancer-free life back!
I don’t know about you, but once I start spewing out blasphemies; it’s hard for me to stop. But like He did with Job, God answered my accusations. Fortunately for me, He was far kinder with me than He was with Job. He brought a sermon on Mark chapter four to my attention. Though a fierce storm battered the disciple’s boat and threatened to swamp them, Jesus slept at peace in the boat. He is in the boat with me during this storm, and He is at peace. In the storm, He grants me peace of mind and heart, an incomprehensible peace not understood by the world. “So,” He says “don’t be troubled or afraid” (John 14:27).
But there is more God has to say to me. Have you not comforted others because you have cancer, Jesus asks me? Then praise your Father. He is the source of all comfort. He pours His comfort over you so that you can extend comfort to others. Your small troubles bring you great benefit and the very salvation of your soul. (2 Corinthians 1: 3-7)
God is still not finished with His response. Have none of those children’s Bible stories you read to your sons each night penetrated your thick skull? “Be still, child, and know that I am God. Wait patiently on me” (Psalm 37:7). Do you have a firmer expectation of your salvation? Has your character been strengthened? Have you learned to endure? Then know that this trial has been good for you (Romans 5: 3-5).
God reminds me of my earthly wealth. Remember, a few years back, all the corrosion and grime smeared on the surface of your faith? Do you recall your misplaced focus, hidden sins and lackluster spiritual relationship with me? The cancer has scrubbed and scrapped and polished your faith to reveal the refined gold beneath. Your faith becomes stronger and more beautiful everyday. Everyone is talking about it even though you cannot see it through the eyes of your present suffering, but this tested faith will bring you glory and honor and praise on the day I reveal my son (1 Peter 1:3-9). Consider it all joy.
And have you so easily forgotten glory, my son? All the good I have brought into your life is but a taste of your future in glory. Awaiting you are the joys of heaven (Colossians 1:5), the Wedding feast of the Lamb (Revelation 19:9), endless spiritual blessings (Ephesians 1:3), an inheritance beyond price both rich and glorious (1 Peter 1:4, Ephesians 1:18), a heavenly home (John 14:1), the great prize of Christ (Philippians 3: 14), a priceless treasure (2 Corinthians 4: 7), a resurrected body (1 Corinthians 15: 5), and a new country of which you are a chosen citizen (Philippians 1:27).
So, friends, before you ask the question, “why me?” prepare yourself for your Father’s answer.
Stars are always above us; they are there in every bright blue sky, but it is only against the black background of a dark night that they shine with such brilliance. Shining stars are not often visible in daylight; God’s glory is not clearly apparent during the good times of a Christian’s life. In our suffering, God’s glory shines with brilliance through us against the black backdrop of our trials.
God bless,
Tim
After three years of cancer, I finally popped the question, or rather the question popped out of me. While strapped inside of the mask, I asked God, very tentatively mind you, “Why me?” I blame a woman at the pool for my misstep. (I must shift the blame to somebody.) There she sits day after day with skin shriveled and prune-like from decades of excess sun, puffing down a pack or two of cancer sticks, munching on Velveeta smothered nachos, and never rising from her seat until its time to leave. Adding her insult to my injury, she must be 110 years old. And I have cancer? Lord surely there has been some kind of mistake. For three decades I’ve worked out 5-10 hours a week. Why me? My diet is 80% whole grains, fresh fruits and veggies. Why me? I’ve never smoked or taken drugs; and I always slather myself with sunscreen, and I take my vitamins. Lord, Oh Lord, why me?
As you can well imagine, this simple question opened the latch and released the floodgates of hidden sin within me. A rising tide of polluted detritus trapped in the pit of my soul gushed out into plain view. Mucking through the mud deep down in my spirit, I saw the ugly truths once hidden by this dirty reservoir. I whisper them to my God. Lord, I do not fully trust you. I really don’t have faith that all the promises you give in the Scriptures actually belong to me. I do not believe, deep down in the core of my soul, that your love for me is truly too deep for me to fathom and will last for an eternity. This plan you have revealed, this path you have set me on, is flawed; I’m heading in the wrong direction, away from my good health, away from my family, away from my little boys. This radiation makes me weaker everyday, and I’m really too young to die. God you need to give me back my control. I need my cancer-free life back!
I don’t know about you, but once I start spewing out blasphemies; it’s hard for me to stop. But like He did with Job, God answered my accusations. Fortunately for me, He was far kinder with me than He was with Job. He brought a sermon on Mark chapter four to my attention. Though a fierce storm battered the disciple’s boat and threatened to swamp them, Jesus slept at peace in the boat. He is in the boat with me during this storm, and He is at peace. In the storm, He grants me peace of mind and heart, an incomprehensible peace not understood by the world. “So,” He says “don’t be troubled or afraid” (John 14:27).
But there is more God has to say to me. Have you not comforted others because you have cancer, Jesus asks me? Then praise your Father. He is the source of all comfort. He pours His comfort over you so that you can extend comfort to others. Your small troubles bring you great benefit and the very salvation of your soul. (2 Corinthians 1: 3-7)
God is still not finished with His response. Have none of those children’s Bible stories you read to your sons each night penetrated your thick skull? “Be still, child, and know that I am God. Wait patiently on me” (Psalm 37:7). Do you have a firmer expectation of your salvation? Has your character been strengthened? Have you learned to endure? Then know that this trial has been good for you (Romans 5: 3-5).
God reminds me of my earthly wealth. Remember, a few years back, all the corrosion and grime smeared on the surface of your faith? Do you recall your misplaced focus, hidden sins and lackluster spiritual relationship with me? The cancer has scrubbed and scrapped and polished your faith to reveal the refined gold beneath. Your faith becomes stronger and more beautiful everyday. Everyone is talking about it even though you cannot see it through the eyes of your present suffering, but this tested faith will bring you glory and honor and praise on the day I reveal my son (1 Peter 1:3-9). Consider it all joy.
And have you so easily forgotten glory, my son? All the good I have brought into your life is but a taste of your future in glory. Awaiting you are the joys of heaven (Colossians 1:5), the Wedding feast of the Lamb (Revelation 19:9), endless spiritual blessings (Ephesians 1:3), an inheritance beyond price both rich and glorious (1 Peter 1:4, Ephesians 1:18), a heavenly home (John 14:1), the great prize of Christ (Philippians 3: 14), a priceless treasure (2 Corinthians 4: 7), a resurrected body (1 Corinthians 15: 5), and a new country of which you are a chosen citizen (Philippians 1:27).
So, friends, before you ask the question, “why me?” prepare yourself for your Father’s answer.
Stars are always above us; they are there in every bright blue sky, but it is only against the black background of a dark night that they shine with such brilliance. Shining stars are not often visible in daylight; God’s glory is not clearly apparent during the good times of a Christian’s life. In our suffering, God’s glory shines with brilliance through us against the black backdrop of our trials.
God bless,
Tim
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Tim Eimer: I need a vision of the living One... He is the cure we all need.
Dear friends,
In our new hospital building, we sit in a room resembling a lobby at the Hilton more than an oncology waiting room, but the same patients greet me everyday with empty stares and hopeless grimaces pasted on their faces. The man with the face deformed by surgery avoids my gaze and rasps mono-syllabic responses to nurses from a voice box strapped round his neck. I greet Tony, who has esophagus cancer, and his wife Lois, who just discovered she has breast cancer. I pray for the two-year-old girl with the chemo ravaged body, baldhead and stick-thin form swaddled in blankets and dwarfed inside her wheel chair. She never cries nor laughs.
I’m half way through my treatments and feel better than I should, but these faces haunt me. I’ve witnessed the horrors of the curse before on missionary trips to Haiti and endless hospital visits to my dying father, but now I’m one of them. The view from the near side of illness is far grimmer.
Nightly, I plead for a taste of God’s glory, a glimpse of the visible image of our invisible God (Colossians 1:15). I guess I need an image of power right now because this disease overpowers so many.
I need a vision of the living One who died, the first and the last, the One who firmly grasps the keys of death and the grave (Revelation 1:17). In His grace, God leads me to Scriptures describing our risen Lord.
In my mind’s eye, I see the Lion of Judah, Ruler of all creation, the One in control of all cancer (Revelation 3:14; 5:5). He is beautiful to behold, handsome beyond description, bursting with majestic glory (Psalm 45:3). His hair glistens like new snow and flows thick and lustrous over His massive shoulders. The arms and feet of our King glow like hot bronze fresh from the forge, and His face shines with the brilliance of the desert sun. Fiery eyes fix their gaze on me while still seeing all things (Revelation 1:14). A rich robe, impossibly white and pure, drapes over His powerful, risen form; priceless blood stains the fringe of the robe, and a name of mystery is written on it (Revelation 19:12). The One named Holy and Faithful and True (Revelation 3:7) rides a magnificent stallion (Revelation 19:11), and with a voice resonating with the Ocean’s power and ringing clear and sweet like silver trumpets (Revelation 4:1), our King shouts to a glorious host of angels and awesome creatures of might and good, who storm across the skies behind Him (Revelation 19:14). The King of kings rides out to victory (Psalm 45:4).
The victory of our powerful Redeemer is the beautiful thought I cling to in that waiting room (Psalm 45:1). He is the cure we all need. In His victory, Jesus drenches us with fresh springs of gracious words (Psalm 45:2) in the desert silence of that wretched room. Our King rides out to defend truth and humility (Psalm 45:4); there are none more weak and humble than oncology patients. The great Healer loves good and hates evil (Psalm 45:7); He must despise cancer. His victory will sweep away the curse (Revelation 22:3); the curse torments us daily. The Lord of lords works awe-inspiring miracles (Psalm 45:4); miracles are greatly needed in my waiting room.
Long before I reach the hospital each morning, I start praying for my waiting room kin, my fellow prisoners of cancer, a people with diminishing hope. I pray for the overreaching victory of the Lamb in their lives. I pray they discover God’s peace offered by the Lamb’s blood (Colossians 1:20). I pray they follow the Shepherd Lamb to the waters of life where all tears and hopeless stares and crippled bodies will be washed away (Revelation 1:7).
I encourage you, my friends, to cherish the vision of our risen Savior. Let His image fill your minds and shed His perfect light on our pitiful, gray world. Allow His visage to compel you to pray for and reach out to the weak and broken people around you that they may share His priceless glory on the surprising day it is revealed (2 Peter 3: 12-13).
God bless,
Tim
In our new hospital building, we sit in a room resembling a lobby at the Hilton more than an oncology waiting room, but the same patients greet me everyday with empty stares and hopeless grimaces pasted on their faces. The man with the face deformed by surgery avoids my gaze and rasps mono-syllabic responses to nurses from a voice box strapped round his neck. I greet Tony, who has esophagus cancer, and his wife Lois, who just discovered she has breast cancer. I pray for the two-year-old girl with the chemo ravaged body, baldhead and stick-thin form swaddled in blankets and dwarfed inside her wheel chair. She never cries nor laughs.
I’m half way through my treatments and feel better than I should, but these faces haunt me. I’ve witnessed the horrors of the curse before on missionary trips to Haiti and endless hospital visits to my dying father, but now I’m one of them. The view from the near side of illness is far grimmer.
Nightly, I plead for a taste of God’s glory, a glimpse of the visible image of our invisible God (Colossians 1:15). I guess I need an image of power right now because this disease overpowers so many.
I need a vision of the living One who died, the first and the last, the One who firmly grasps the keys of death and the grave (Revelation 1:17). In His grace, God leads me to Scriptures describing our risen Lord.
In my mind’s eye, I see the Lion of Judah, Ruler of all creation, the One in control of all cancer (Revelation 3:14; 5:5). He is beautiful to behold, handsome beyond description, bursting with majestic glory (Psalm 45:3). His hair glistens like new snow and flows thick and lustrous over His massive shoulders. The arms and feet of our King glow like hot bronze fresh from the forge, and His face shines with the brilliance of the desert sun. Fiery eyes fix their gaze on me while still seeing all things (Revelation 1:14). A rich robe, impossibly white and pure, drapes over His powerful, risen form; priceless blood stains the fringe of the robe, and a name of mystery is written on it (Revelation 19:12). The One named Holy and Faithful and True (Revelation 3:7) rides a magnificent stallion (Revelation 19:11), and with a voice resonating with the Ocean’s power and ringing clear and sweet like silver trumpets (Revelation 4:1), our King shouts to a glorious host of angels and awesome creatures of might and good, who storm across the skies behind Him (Revelation 19:14). The King of kings rides out to victory (Psalm 45:4).
The victory of our powerful Redeemer is the beautiful thought I cling to in that waiting room (Psalm 45:1). He is the cure we all need. In His victory, Jesus drenches us with fresh springs of gracious words (Psalm 45:2) in the desert silence of that wretched room. Our King rides out to defend truth and humility (Psalm 45:4); there are none more weak and humble than oncology patients. The great Healer loves good and hates evil (Psalm 45:7); He must despise cancer. His victory will sweep away the curse (Revelation 22:3); the curse torments us daily. The Lord of lords works awe-inspiring miracles (Psalm 45:4); miracles are greatly needed in my waiting room.
Long before I reach the hospital each morning, I start praying for my waiting room kin, my fellow prisoners of cancer, a people with diminishing hope. I pray for the overreaching victory of the Lamb in their lives. I pray they discover God’s peace offered by the Lamb’s blood (Colossians 1:20). I pray they follow the Shepherd Lamb to the waters of life where all tears and hopeless stares and crippled bodies will be washed away (Revelation 1:7).
I encourage you, my friends, to cherish the vision of our risen Savior. Let His image fill your minds and shed His perfect light on our pitiful, gray world. Allow His visage to compel you to pray for and reach out to the weak and broken people around you that they may share His priceless glory on the surprising day it is revealed (2 Peter 3: 12-13).
God bless,
Tim
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